


Always Belonged to You

by fireandiceandallthingsnice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandiceandallthingsnice/pseuds/fireandiceandallthingsnice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's turning 35 and Castiel thought it might be prudent to return a few things that have always and will always belong to him. </p>
<p>Just a fluffy little fic for the birthday boy :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Belonged to You

Dean’s fingers tapped idly on the table, the words in front of him blurring and merging into a big black mess. And if Dean squinted, he could see the numbers 3 and 5. The hunter let out a long sigh, pouting unhappily and trying to avert his eyes from the offending digits. 35. Mother fucker. Being in your thirties was bad enough, but 5? Dean had never liked the number 5. It was hard to explain, but it felt… untrustworthy. It felt like it was trying lull into a false sense of security, try to convince you that the forties were further away- but in reality? They were about to grab at your heels and drag away into their middle aged abyss. 

Anyway, Dean’s not exactly at ease with turning 35 today. He doesn’t like the idea that when he drives down the street in his baby, he’ll look like he’s going through a mid-life crisis instead of like a fucking badass. Dean groans and drops his head into his hands. To be honest, he didn’t even really expect to make it to 37. He didn’t expect to make it to thirty. He didn’t expect to sitting at home, stressing out about having a mid-life crisis and reading up on lore in complete safety. 

Beside him, there’s the soft sound of someone breathing. It’s not Sam (the giant would surely have made an entrance to remember) and the only other person who can show up out of nowhere, let alone the only other person in the whole fucking bunker, is Cas. Dean exhales slowly and murmurs, “What’s up, angel?” Afterwards, he internally curses himself for calling Castiel “angel”; Jesus Christ he’s such a dork.   
“Hello Dean. Sam…alerted me to the fact that it’s your birthday today”

Dean looks up wearily at this, drinking in the angel before him. He doesn’t mean to, honest, but sometimes he can’t help. It was widely acknowledged by seemingly every creature on the face of the planet, that Castiel, or at least his vessel, was smokin’ hot (and didn’t that just make Dean’s blood boil). “Sure is. Got any birthday wishes for me Cas?”

The angels’ nose scrunches infinitesimally as he tries to process what Dean could mean by a wish. Dean huffs a laugh and turns to face his best friend more fully, their legs dangerously close to tangling. “Not wishes, precisely. I did get a gift for you though”. Seemingly from nowhere, Castiel produces a delicately, newspaper wrapped present and places it on the table in front of Dean; who shakes his head and pleas with the angel.

“I can’t take it Cas, you know that. It’s just a birthday; you didn’t have to get me something.”

“Strictly speaking, Dean, it’s yours already.” He hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips together, before continuing. “Both of my gifts to you are. They were always yours and always will be.”

Dean squints at him, tentatively reaching for the gift on the table. Castiel urges him on eagerly, his eyes wide and expectant. Dean swears, he’s like a fucking kid sometimes. Slowly, gently, Dean plucks open the tape and picks apart the folds of newspaper (car ads no less), but stops short when he sees what they contain. 

“Cas”, Dean says in a heavy push of air, drawn from him against his will. All of a sudden, there is urgency to the hunters’ movements and Castiel is smiling. Lightly, Dean picks up his amulet- glinting gently in the light of the bunker, the bronze worn and oh-so-familiar. “How did you-?”

“I travelled back in time to retrieve it for you, Dean” the angel says, smiling giddily; proud of his intuition and Dean’s barely concealed awe at the gift he provided. “I knew how much it meant to you, and to Sam, so I thought it appropriate that it was returned to you”

“You travelled back in time? But Cas, that takes a lot of juice! Are you okay?” Dean reaches out and places a hand on his friends shoulder, the other clutched tightly around the amulet (as though in fear of losing it again). “I’m fine, Dean. It was more than worth it.” Cas pauses again, worrying his lip with his teeth. “Do you like it?”

Dean sighs and shakes his head, looking at Cas with a face like his heart is bursting. “I love it. Thanks Cas.” He slips it over his head, revelling in how it sits- crisp and right against his collarbone. Using the purchase he has on the angels shoulder, he pulls him into his arms and buries his face in his shoulder. To Dean’s great surprise, he feels hands gently move to his back, gripping his shoulder blades and Castiel’s head drop into his neck; feeling the pull of air the angel takes. 

They hold each other for a while, much longer than Dean ever intended, but it feels so wrong- so offensively wrong- to pull back from each other. Occasionally they shift to make it more comfortable and Dean does not, he fucking does not, snuggle into the warm flesh under his cheek. Eventually though, they do part and Dean cocks his head slightly. 

“Cas, you said both of the gifts were always mine or whatever poetic shit you blabbed.” Castiel pouts unhappily, but doesn’t interrupt. “So what’s the second gift, Cas?”  
For a long moment, the other man just looks at him. Expressionless, silent, unassuming. Dean’s grown far to used to this kind of treatment, so he does nothing in return, simply sits and lets Cas stare at him. Castiel nods to himself, seeming to make a decision before reaching forward and- oh. 

Cas’s lips are warm and soft, pushing gently against Dean’s. The hunter tenses for a moment, shoulders tight and his eyes wide. Castiel doesn’t give up, eyes still resolutely closed and tilting his head just so- oh god. Where did this kid learn to kiss? Dean can’t help himself- he fucking melts. He lets himself be dragged into Cas’s orbit, sighing softly against his lips and pushing back with gentle fervour. 

It’s restrained, but the longing underneath is hard to miss; as Dean’s fingers curl in the hair at the nape of Cas’s neck and Castiel cradles Dean’s face in his hands, sending out his tongue to swipe across Dean’s bottom lip- tentatively asking for permission that Dean is all too happy to give. He parts for him, like the fucking Red Sea or some shit and then Cas is right there, tasting him and groaning quietly against his lips. Dean’s making all these pathetic little noises that he should hate himself for, but truthfully; he just doesn’t give a fuck. He’s getting what he wants and fuck, if it isn’t everything he imagined it would be. Scrap that, it’s fucking better. 

With one final tug on Dean’s bottom lip, Cas pulls back, his breathing laboured and his pupils blown; though the unbridled affection there is unmistakeable. Tenderly, he says, “Happy Birthday, Dean” and he is gone, with nothing more than a fond press of his lips to Dean’s forehead. Dean sits for a moment, still in a well-kissed stupor before he realises Cas is gone. “Wait,” he whispers and then again with more verve. 

“Wait, Cas!”

The angel turns in the doorway, a tiny smile on his lips and Dean hurries to reclaim what is rightfully his, a mess of affections stuck on his tongue. If this is what 35 is going to be like, then bring on 36.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave comments and kudos- because they make me feel nice. Happy birthday Dean Winchester! Thanks sugarplums xoxoxox


End file.
